


Thirteen Black Roses

by ResurrectedSpiderbyte



Category: World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Cute, F/F, Fantasy, Long, Multi, Sapphic, Succubus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24607651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ResurrectedSpiderbyte/pseuds/ResurrectedSpiderbyte
Summary: just a bit gay innit
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	1. The Meeting

Footsteps echoed down the stone-clad corridor - black petals and leaves rustling in the arms of the newest recruit with each step. Delivering the Dark Lady’s roses was a task always given to the newest recruit, to have private interactions with her and cement them into their group. The importance of communication between the Banshee Queen and her rangers was made apparent when the newest ranger was dragged into what seemed to be a conference room. Sitting around the long-table marked with slices and cuts, all the rangers watched her enter with devilish expressions smeared across their faces. They told her of exactly how to speak to Sylvanas Windrunner, what she likes to hear about, her interests, her hobbies, assuring her that she’s in a good mood that day. Insisting how important it was for her to speak about her own interests and what she likes - The dark lady likes to listen to her rangers talk, even if it is nonsense to her the majority of the time. 

They were more than kind to her, more than welcoming. Some showed her around the Undercity, others started teaching her jewellery crafting and sharing stories of the past. They knew of the troubles she faced, being freshly raised and pulled from the torture of roaming the plains aimlessly; Desperately searching for a purpose. They wanted to make it as easy as it could be for her.

She could barely remember her past life. Memories weren’t something she was fortunate enough to cling onto, but Sylvanas Windrunner saw something in her. Something.

As she neared the Dark Lady’s quarters, the numerous instructions given to her by the other rangers whirred around her head in a flurry of words. Though she felt no fear (after being convinced that Sylvanas was in a good mood that day) there was a lurking anxiety that lingered around her soul. Each step closer to the room through the almost dingy corridor became more nerve-wracking than the last, hiding her face behind the bunched up roses and turning the final corner. 

A well-armoured guard stood at either side of the doors, sharpened spears stood proudly in their grasp besides their illuminated eyes. They didn’t speak, nor move. Clutching onto the roses she walked onward and hesitated at the door before knocking on it politely, biting down on her bottom lip and waiting for a response. She stood awkwardly for a few moments before she heard the words of summoning. Though muffled through the thick wood of the door, chills bolted up her spine and festered as the door creaked open seemingly by itself. 

Taking a cautious step inside, the flowers began to audibly rattle as her eyes darted around the room. It was dimly lit; the walls stretched high and there was a clutter of furniture scattered around the room. Books were piled high by the bed, their pages yellowed and torn. Spiders had made a cosy home in a few corners, but they didn’t seem to bother the Dark Lady. The room smelled damp and the light from the window filtered in modestly. From the doorway, she couldn’t see where Sylvanas was. Her eyes continued to flicker around as she walked into the middle of the room, carefully minding the stray books and papers. Her attention was caught on the amount of books layering the shelves, all in languages she had never seen before, their fonts prettier than the last. She could only begin to imagine what reading material the Banshee Queen herself stuck her nose into late at night, but was interrupted by the familiar tense of leather and cloth. 

The ranger turned her head to her right and her bright eyes bulged at the sight of  _ her _ . 

Stood so magnificently, she would tower over most. The light through the window stroked her pink lavender skin and illuminated the crimson that laced her iris’. The feathers of eyelashes sat so comfortably, their darkness contrasting the cloud white strands of silk cascading from her scalp down to her shoulders. As her head tilted, her hair followed suit and the strands ran along her cheekbones like water through crevices. Her lips twitched with a deep rose hue. The tears burned into her skin with pain were nothing but stripes of courage and strength throughout her life - all the suffering and pain she was dragged through symbolised into her infamous tear markings that adorned her eyes and only highlighted the true strength of the female spirit. Her eyebrows fluttered with the draft and ears sensitive to each noise within her radius. Even her most neutral expression had an iron grip around the rangers heart, squeezing it and tugging her closer towards the other woman. 

Her  _ words. _

The ice cold honey that formed each syllable and vowel lathered the rangers body and filled her lungs. She could barely bring herself to breathe, let alone speak when she heard the words. The words that refused to register in her preoccupied brain. She stood gormless, fingers wrapping around the plant stems and the thorns digging into her skin. Sylvanas stood quietly with an eyebrow raised. She was used to this, of course. Her blood red eyes traced down to the table; an empty vase sat patiently waiting for the next batch of dying roses to fill the void. With her gloved hand, Sylvanas picked up the vase and shook it slightly, eyes flickering back to the stuttering ranger.    
  
“Are they for me?” Sylvanas asks, again. The ranger blinked heavily and nodded, her mouth hanging open as her brain forced her legs to move closer. Each step she took felt like she was walking through thick sludge - just to be in the Dark Lady’s presence was overwhelming enough. Her eyes fell down to the table and she could feel her face burning up, still clutching the roses. It took her a brief moment to remember what she was supposed to do with them - to which Sylvanas found somewhat amusing. 

Sylvanas placed a gentle finger underneath the bowed rangers chin, lifting it up slowly and gazing down at the wide eyes.    
  


“Well, are they?” Her words were more stern this time, a faux lack of patience running through her voice to snap the bewildered ranger out of whatever trance she had put her under. By the way she jumped and blinked rapidly, stray leaves and petals falling from her arms, it had worked. She stuttered and stumbled on her words, and such simple words they were.    
  
“Yes, my lady” She finally coughed out, her brain kicking and hissing at her heart for making such a mockery of them. Internally groaning, the ranger held up the flowers in such a childish fashion, like a toddler presenting a set of scribbles to their parents wishing for praise. Sylvanas thought so too, and took her hand away from underneath the woman’s chin. She set the vase back down onto the table and kept her gaze planted deeply into the quivering eyes of the ranger. 

She felt like her eyes were glued to Sylvanas’, hands shaking towards the vase as her head bowed again - this time in respect and not sheer disorientation. She carefully placed the roses one by one, each rose relaxing her slightly more each time (though she felt as though she would need a million roses to get her through this). Sylvanas took her gaze from the ranger and to the roses; A smirk appearing on her face as she admired the petals. Her index finger and thumb stroked the petals so softly, not a single tear appearing. 

They both remained in silence, the ranger _ knowing _ she should say something to make a good first impression, but her heart had started to grow disappointed in itself and her hope was fading fast. Sylvanas moved from the flowers and took hold of a chair, gesturing to the one opposite herself for the other woman to sit. The ranger, quick on her feet, took the opportunity to pull the chair out for the Dark Lady - and Sylvanas smiled faintly at the gesture. 

She sat with an arm hanging over the back of the chair and a leg folded over the other, whereas the ranger sat as stiff as a board.   
  
“You have nothing to prove to me. You are one of my rangers, I know what you are capable of.” Sylvanas spoke finally after a pregnant silence. And it was true. There wasn’t a single member of the forsaken that Sylvanas viewed as expendable or useless. She wasn’t like those Alliance bootlickers or Horde pigs. She never let a social construct as fragile as “honour” force her to question between her own face and the right decision. To put lives at risk for your own fragile ego was disgraceful, and Sylvanas scowled at the very thought. She sighed and admired the beauty of the ranger sat across from her; such wonderful locks of hair spilled over her shoulders and glimmered in the light filtering in through the window. A part of her wanted to reach over and play with it, but she knew better. Now wasn’t the time to indulge in sweet wishes, no matter how much both of them would like to.

“You’re like a shrinking violet, Ranger Koshka. Sit up and relax.” She said, her eyes squinting slightly as she did her best to keep a level of comfort in her voice; no matter how foreign it was to her. Koshka did her best to consciously relax all of her muscles, loosening up her fists that were previously clenched. She glanced down at her fingers, seeing the way they had green blood smeared over them and little segments of leaves scrunched up underneath her fingernails. She didn’t quite know what to say in response; her heart yearned to thank the Banshee Queen for this opportunity, and express her undying loyalty. Though she thought back to what the others told her. Be calm, be respectful, and most importantly, to just be herself. There is no point putting on a facade in front of Sylvanas Windrunner; it would be sniffed out and destroyed immediately. Plus, it wasn’t as if she could hide her anxiousness now. The best thing she could do now would be to overcome her nerves and speak as though it never happened.

“My apologies, my Lady. I couldn’t stop thinking about…”  _ Thinking about what? Come on. Think.  _ “About your...hairs. They’re lovely.”  _ Idiot.  _ There was so much to unpack. Her wobbling voice, the faux confidence she smeared across her face and as a thin coating over her words, the new plurality of “hair”, and out of everything she could’ve said, it had to be a direct complement to the Dark Lady. Koshka internally screamed and felt her hands curl into a tight fist again as Sylvanas almost laughed under her breath. 

“And, also, you read a lot. What...what are your favourite books? I like The Shadow of The Wicked.” Desperately trying to recover the catastrophe that was the conversation, she picked a conversation topic the rangers insisted she speak about. It wasn’t a well known thing how much Sylvanas enjoyed reading, and Koshka could only assume it was privy to Sylvanas and her rangers only. And, that strange man she sees skulking around the place every so often.    
Sylvanas let her eyes wander for a moment in thought, tilting her head over at the bookcase on the far end of the room.   
  
“I like The Hand of The Archangel. But I prefer to read history books or books surrounding the sciences.” Truthfully, she hadn’t read much of the named book, but she assumed it was along the same fictional lines of Koshka’s book and called it a day. The books that were piled by the side of her bed were all about demonology, hedge witches, and faeries. Some delved into astrology but not much. She usually prefers to bulk read subjects at once, and revisit them every once in a while; Even considering writing her own at one point. But that is only a fantasy, and it will remain that way. In a world plagued by war and destruction, there is no time for egotistical pursuits of auto-biographies. She rarely let herself take time from her pursuit of freedom from the shackles of pain to wind down and self indulge. The rangers that stick close to her are a constant reminder of both who and what she is fighting for, and they are all the encouragement she needs. To understand the pain they endured, the torture they witnessed and were forced to partake in, is something that haunts Sylvanas each night. The least she could do is give them somewhere nice to stay.

“I trust the others have helped you settle in nicely, yes?” She asked, switching the topic from reading to what she really wanted to know about. Ranger Koshka nodded quickly and paused for a moment, trying to conjure up the words.

“Yes, of course. They have all been very welcoming to me, thank you…” She notices how Sylvanas’ eyes flickered down to her right wrist, eying up the bracelet. “They are teaching me how to make bracelets tonight, apparently.” 

Sylvanas felt her eyes twitching to roll back.  _ More bracelets. _ It was a sweet gesture to say the least. Though she never wore them clearly on show, she always had at least one bracelet on her at all times, whether it be in a pouch or hidden under some armour. Truthfully, she didn’t know if the other Rangers had caught onto that, but either way, she kept them hidden - they provided a sense of comfort to her. The last thing she wanted was for the enemy to believe she shares a similar weakness with them. Emotion. 

Sylvanas nodded slightly, eyes darting to her bed, thinking of the not one but two boxes  _ stuffed _ with bracelets locked underneath. “I see. Have they shown you around the city?”

“Yes, if they weren’t with me I would’ve gotten lost.” Koshka muttered under her breath slightly, feeling herself get a little shy again. Sylvanas looked out of the window, peering down at the forsaken looking like tiny ants, carrying barrels and boxes, bags of meat and whatever else. It was hard for her not to smile slightly; she was proud of them.    
  


“Thank you for the roses. I will be seeing you and the other Rangers tonight.” Her words were somewhat blunt, but not filled with spite or malice. She had learned enough of this rangers personality for now, and figured it would be best to let her settle down more. Koshka sucked her lips in and panicked slightly. The other rangers told her to speak of so much more, she felt like she hadn’t done enough, or she wasted too much time. Sylvanas hadn’t looked back to her, she was still staring out of the window. She was too worried to speak, nervous that she was upsetting her or annoying her. Instead, she nodded and excused herself from the table, swiftly exiting the room. 


	2. Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of two

“So, come on, you’ve been quiet all evening. Tell us about it!” Alina exclaimed, a fistful of Koshka’s hair entwined between her fingers as she began braiding it again. Truthfully, the ranger was still anxious about the meeting. All day she had been avoiding answering any questions about it, taking convenient sips of her drink or mouthfuls of food to buy herself time to think of a reply. Koshka knew the other rangers weren’t stupid, and that they’d absolutely caught onto it.

“I mean… I don’t know? It just went normally, I guess.” She muttered, brushing off some non-existent dust from her evening wear. Koshka caught Alina tilting her head and glancing over at the others in the reflection of the mirror, making her bite at her lip again. “What do you want to know?”  
  
“What did she say? What did _you_ say?” The excitement in her voice was real, and the others looked over and listened intently. To Koshka, it felt like one big permanent sleepover and honestly, it was. When she was told that every Sunday evening Sylvanas enjoyed a large meal with her rangers and that they dressed up for the occasion, her first reaction was nervousness as to what she would wear and how to make a good impression. She had no idea where to even start - apart from the tailors that the rangers pointed out to her on their trip. Though one thing she didn’t expect was to be pulled into a large room with several wardrobes and mirrors, each wardrobe bearing a nameplate denoting its respective owner. A chandelier of candles hung from the high ceiling above, and all around the room Koshka could see an array of hair styling tools. 

When the others opened up the wardrobes, they were littered with suits and dresses, and while Koshka had her own, it was of course empty. Thankfully, Anya was more than happy to lend her a suit which fit like a glove and the black silk felt divine across Koshka’s skin. Deep red stitching held it all together and the white shirt was complemented with an equally blood red tie. Anya couldn’t help but thrust the tie into Koshka’s face and force her to “admire” the details in the modest gold patterning. Alina had jumped at the chance to braid Koshka’s thick black locks that almost touched her ankles, much to the other rangers disappointment. 

By now it'd been about two hours since Alina had started braiding, which meant it'd been about two hours of indecisiveness on the veteran ranger's part as to the style that she wanted Koshka to wear.

  
“I just asked her what books she likes to read, like you told me to.” Koshka replied with a sigh, glancing down at her knees. 

“Oh yeah, that’s a classic. You weren’t in there for very long though, what did she say?” There was a hint of confusion in Alina’s voice, and glances were chucked around the room between the other rangers. 

“Just that she likes to read books about science and history. I looked at the bookcases when I walked in, but I didn’t read the titles properly.” It felt like a confession, and Koshka began to regret it immediately. She knew this would only encourage more questions - and she was right.

“What did she say about that? You know, one time Velonara stayed up all night reading books about the anatomy of murlocs just so she could talk about it with Sylvanas the next day-” Alina started, choking back a laugh as Velonara jumped up in her pearly white dress, hair bouncing over her shoulders.

“ _First of all,_ that’s not true. I just happen to like murlocs too. It was a total coincidence.” She protested, arms folding stubbornly over her chest. A few rangers rolled their eyes in response, eyebrows twitching.

“You just happened to rediscover your niche love for murlocs when you saw Sylvie carrying a book on them?” Another ranger, Vorel, chimed in. Velonara squinted over at her and tutted; her glare icy cold. 

“This is all irrelevant, we’re supposed to be talking about Koshka, not me.” 

“Yeah, good way to redirect the conversation, Velly.”

“ _Vorel!_ ” 

While Koshka would’ve been more than happy to have the conversation be around Velonara, Sylvanas, and their apparent murloc obsession, she felt a little bad for her and decided to continue the conversation. The questions had been waiting for a couple of hours now, so it was best she got them answered and tucked back under the bed. 

“She didn’t really say much, honestly. She asked me if you had all helped me settle in, and if you’d taken me around the Undercity. I said that, you know, you’ve all been very lovely to me, and very welcoming. She seemed happy about that - I think.” Words felt like they were tumbling out of her mouth, but the rangers didn’t look suspicious or concerned, so she figured she shouldn’t be either. Despite the lack of concern in the room, she still felt slightly anxious, and she wasn’t sure if she should air that or not.

“...Is that it? I knew you were in there for a short time but is that all she said?” Alina questioned, spiking worry within Koshka’s chest that had been lingering, festering, _waiting,_ for that exact question. She felt as though she had a stick in her throat, and stayed silent in an attempt to swallow it back - the only response she could bring herself to give Alina was a slight nod.

“Well, she has a lot on her mind.” Velonara sighed with her hands falling to her hips and eyes glancing over at the other rangers for backup in this quest of reassurance. Some rangers squinted, most notably Anya, whereas others nodded in understanding. Anya shuffled on her seat and rested against the back.

“Like what?” She asked, unaware of what Velonara was trying to do. Koshka bit her lip and looked up, feeling the tugs of Alina braiding her hair quite comforting. It was hard to say if Koshka knew what the others were doing or not - she had suspicions that were birthed particularly after Anya piped up, and the daggers she saw Velonara cast over at her from the reflection in the mirror. But, that was a pretty common occurrence from what she’d seen in the few days she’d been here.

“You know, there’s that whole thing with the legion and whatever, it’s a lot to handle.” The dark ranger scuffed at her feet as she glanced down towards the floor, biting her lip ever so gently.

“Are you kidding? If she has to deal with Clea’s constant fuck ups, I’m pretty sure the Legion aren’t playing on her mind.” Anya teased, a spittle of spite rolling off of her tongue and in Clea’s general direction. The targeted ranger flew up from her seat and stormed over towards Anya with rage burning her eyes brightly, and Velonara groaned as she obstructed the furious woman's path. The other rangers lounging around the room paid no attention to the bubbling rage; clearly used to this inner-group confrontation. 

“Look, it doesn’t matter. Maybe if you’d pay attention to what I tell you all every Monday, myou’d actually know what we’re talking about.” Anya scowled at Velonara’s words and rolled her eyes, settling down further into her seat. She always found Velonara’s insistent weekly meetings to be insufferable and a waste of time; Not only was it a subtle brag that she believes herself to be the Dark Lady’s favourite, but it felt as a way to put herself above the others. Now, that isn’t exactly the case with Velonara - she _is_ slightly smug that she gets to hear more little details about each mission, and get early knowledge on the future ones, but that is only for her to pass the information to the other rangers. Anya’s attendance at those meetings was less than favourable, but she wasn’t the only one who chose to skip out every so often. Others attended for the information, and also to keep Velonara happy. 

“At least she took the roses, so I agree with Velonara. She must just have a lot on her mind right now. If she didn’t like you, you’d know about it.” Alina cut in and tugged at Koshka’s hair playfully as she finished up the braid. She looked down at her handiwork and felt rather chuffed with herself, the hair weaving in and out of itself so perfectly with complexity and beauty. There was a part of her that felt envious of her own work; mostly being she didn’t give herself this hairstyle. 

“Do you all remember when Nathanos gave her a tiny daisy he picked from the middle of the battlefield and she just glared at him?” 

“She didn’t even take it from him. He was left hanging with a stupid muddy daisy in his fingers.” Vorel cracked up and let her book drop to her knees, a hand cupping her forehead as she continued to laugh at the mere sight. It was a funny sight to witness, despite being moments before a gruesome battle. Sylvanas was already pissed from the moment they arrived at the battlefield; having been misdirected not once but twice, trudging through the rain for several days _and_ having to deal with Nathanos never shutting up. There were a few moments where Velonara caught her scowling furiously at a little worm writhing around in the soil, or scuffing her feet with her arms tightly folded across her chest. Given the body language, most would steer clear of her, but a few rangers had enough balls to hang around - One of those being of course Velonara. She knew just her presence brought a slight tinge of comfort to Sylvanas - something that was incredibly rare. 

It was unclear as to _why_ Nathanos thought it would be a good idea to give her such a thing; especially as the rain was beginning to heavy and a scowl had been smeared across her face that entire day. As he held up the flower to her, a “kind” gesture, all he received was an icy glare shot down at him and a long, _long_ moment of silence. A few rangers caught it after watching him like a hawk, and didn’t even try to hide their cackles as Sylvanas glanced down at the flower, back to the man, and then straight ahead. Not a single word left her mouth but the silence between them spoke sheer volumes.

Koshka shuffled uncomfortably in her seat and looked up at Alina, flashing her a grateful smile as her hand tenderly stroked the braid that coiled around her head. 

“I’m glad she accepted them, I hope maybe I can catch her on another day and talk to her properly then.” 

Before anyone could reply, Velonara clapped her hands together and pointed up at the clock. It was time for the meal.

***

“Good evening, rangers.” 

Her cool, silky voice echoed throughout the large room, controlling the atmosphere with just a few words. Already seated, Sylvanas kept her hands firmly on her lap and glanced at each ranger individually. Proud of each of them, she always did her best to remember little things to do with their personalities. It made birthdays and winterfest  _ much _ easier. Though she didn’t have much spare time, what little she had she tried to spend with her rangers, listening to their rambles, assisting them with training, or even just hanging around in the same room. They all cared for each other greatly; it was a wonderful sight to see, something that made undeath a little more bearable. She knew of their bickering, their occasional fights. Their celebrations, their love-lives. She knew of their individual nightmares, and who runs to who in the middle of the night if they get particularly hard to handle. 

As the rangers seated themselves, Alina pushed Koshka towards the end of the table Sylvanas sat at. While they didn’t have a seating plan, it was usually a fuss beforehand between who gets to sit beside Sylvanas; they even had to create a schedule for each week, which they mostly abide by. Because Koshka wasn’t written into the timetable yet, Alina very kindly let her sit besides the Dark Lady, hoping to give her a better opportunity to talk with her than earlier that day. Sylvanas noticed the gesture but remained near deadpan - keeping her smirk internal. It was sweet, and the anxiety washed over Koshka’s face was apparent to her. 

“I hope the week has been good to you all,” Sylvanas continued after everyone was seated and settled. “Of course, to begin, I will welcome Ranger Koshka to her first meal as an official member of our team.” She turned her head to Koshka, a very  _ very _ slight smile on her face. Koshka felt herself almost shrink into her seat, but forced a smile at the same time. Beads of sweat started to form on her forehead but Sylvanas took no notice. 

“This week has been one of triumph for the Forsaken, multiple camps seized and land covered. It is one for everyone to celebrate both individual achievements and the Forsakens. I have paid close attention to your efforts, and as usual, I was impressed by the constantly improving display of talent and skill on the field.” 

The weight of Sylvanas’ words always enthralled Koshka; the way she held herself when she spoke captured the entire room and it was clear who held power and demanded respect. Though she was mostly learning the ins and outs of both the Undercity and the Ranger group responsibilities, the speech made her feel as though she had done well - when, in comparison to the others, she felt otherwise.

“As you all will have been made aware by Ranger Velonara,” Sylvanas started up again, noticing how Velonara shot a glare over at Anya from across the table. “The next few weeks will be heavy duty, difficult, and taxing. It’s very important that, as usual, you keep your strong will and desire for victory within your hearts. That being said, let's start the next leg of our journey with a good meal. Thank you, Rangers.” 

As she finished up her short speech, the rangers all bowed their head and began reaching for the array of food that was laid out in front of them. Both cooked and uncooked meat sat on pretty platters decorated by mushrooms and berries, sweet treats held on trays and accompanied by even sweeter fruits. Sylvanas tilted her head towards Koshka, who sat completely still as she watched the others dive in. Picking up a jug of aged-blood (that was the forsaken substitute for wine), Sylvanas poured it into Koshka’s chalice and then into her own. The shrinking ranger watched with a frozen face, fingers curling into a fist. 

“I suggest you dig in, before Ranger Anya eats all the leg.”


End file.
